The Wishmaker
by The Varajan
Summary: Every story ever told explains what happens to the ones who ask for wishes. But what about the ones who grant them? An ancient mutant with the power to grant wishes comes when the X-Men needed him most, and he found, that in the end, he needed them too.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings old fans and new ones! This is my first X-men fic and I'll be clear on a few things so you can understand where I am coming from. This fic is an alternate storyline of sorts to the movie X-men Three: The Last Stand. I won't give out any spoilers save that the story in and of itself will be very, very interesting if you are into mutant history and into the whole philosophy of mutant ethics as was described in the story, which is not to say there wont be action or romance :D. I hope you enjoy the story.**

**Gods and Myths**

From as far back in history as we have record of, there have always been myths and mysteries in the world. Unanswered gaps of information to some of the greatest civilizations ever to have walked the planet, and all throughout, every explanation falls into theory because it could never be proven.

Questions such as how the Egyptians managed to build the intricate catacombs of their pyramids without adequate technology. How did they build the structure itself with flawless symmetry is an unanswered question. An even baser question than that is the question of how did they even build the pyramid to begin with.

Another myth, such as the mystery of the superiority of Greece, how they were so fortunate in almost every way when they had by all indicators to be just as primitive as their Dacian neighbors to the north, and yet they became in only a few centuries become the most advanced civilization on the planet. Scientists simply claim that they were lucky and keeping with the way of a science as opposed to philosophy, they explain the "How" but not the "Why".

How they built their entire civilization has been completely dissected and explained, but not the "Why". Why did they know the things they did, why were they beyond every other civilization, why were they unbeatable no matter how many times they were invaded and no matter how outnumbered.

No one asks themselves that, the Greeks were just lucky they suppose.

The same subtle, quiet phenomenon could be interpreted to be working its hand in Rome. These people much like Alexander the Great, albeit more lastingly, enjoyed the grace of this phenomenon in the way they conquered the world and maintained it for some time.

This was often called the will of the Gods by both the Greeks and the Romans. They had the favor of the Gods and took full advantage of it, flourishing like a rose. But as soon as the civilization became decadent or too corrupt, they fell even quicker than they rose as if the God's favor had abandoned them.

Now that is an interesting concept, thinking of the phenomenon as a will, a conscious will with it's own agenda and fancies rather than a force of culture for not all who possessed the same drive excelled at the same speed.

Let us think of this phenomenon as a will, one that consciously favors different civilizations according to its own criteria.

We see the Greeks become decadent and bloated, un-driven and completely complacent, convinced of their superiority and standing. Almost immediately they fell and were brushed away by the Romans who after several centuries committed the same act and fell to the barbarians who enjoyed many good fortunes afterwards. Such was the rise of the Vikings and other barbarians who did not unite themselves and after some time were simply wandering aimlessly and killing others. Soon they simply became just that, aimless, wandering killers.

The rise of the Mongols and the Huns before them along with several other tribes and barbarians simultaneously could be interpreted as the will choosing the next civilization it favored and the Huns along with the Mongols later on held it's blessing and favor. And in doing so, nearly conquered the world, but by dissention within the Huns and later on by the death of the great Temujin also known as the dreaded Genghis Khan, they fell away and scattered, their various kingdoms only held by the various sons and leaders left only to fade away.

The rise of Christianity was both explosive and fast, they spread quickly and it could be said that by their faith they had been favored by the will. And thus came the Crusades, a war of faith, into the Holy Land. They fought the Arabs and the Turks who were relatively peaceful civilizations at the time. But afterwards the corruption of the Vatican and the atrocities being committed in the Holy Land became common place.

And the favor of the will could be seen shifting to those it once harmed. The peoples of the Holy Land learnt of war in nearly no time, their society seemed to have been imbued with the experience of a civilization that had been warlike throughout its entire existence. They crushed the Christians and any other Crusade to cross into their lands. But even with the claims and desires of Saladin, their greatest general, they did not invade Christian lands. They prospered and enjoyed some form of respite in keeping with this desire for peace. Or rather in keeping with this never mentioned decree.

They had ever reason and every right to attack, crush and invade the Vatican and all other kingdoms of Christ who stood in their way, but for some unexplained reason they would not.

Now perhaps this will, this God, could be seen as one who actually exerts it's will in ways it sees fit, not only favoring a certain people, but also bending them to specific ends it wishes. One who follows a certain code of ethics it chooses.

This could be exemplified with those such as the Templar who were of a strange sect of Christianity continued to rise in keeping with a neutrality and making their faith incorruptible, 

became richer than most of the royalty in the world. The Catholic Church had them executed for heresy and worship of a strange idol. One who was never completely identified or explained.

Some claim it was Mohammed, the founder of Islam, or Jesus Christ, or one of the Old Gods. The Templar for keeping faithful to this deity and their ways were executed because they would not answer to the corruptness of the Church.

Now this is getting a little more interesting, they rose with the same power the church did from the lowest, even lower beginnings, and yet continued to thrive as the church fell because they kept true to their beliefs.

Perhaps the Church knew of why they were being favored, and had them executed just as they did with every other person who attempted to overstep their self given authority.

Strange; an organization killed off everyone who ever attempted to compete with them over doctrine or way of thinking. Perhaps, this was to keep the attention of the will centered on them. But despite their best attempts, people such as Martin Luther were inexplicably lucky and no harm came to them.

His exposure of the corruption of the Church and the warping of its way of life birthed the Protestant Church.

It could be said that after these events in history, beginning with Martin Luther in particular, the will began to exert itself in a quiet way. Favoring people, not nations, people such as Leonardo Da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Machiavelli only to name a few.

Their way of thinking was so much more advanced beyond their time that they were seen as gifted, favored.

Every unlikely victory in the name of some pure cause, every genuinely good effort of greatness seemed to have been blessed, some were, some were not, by the attention and favor of the will. The hand of the will could be perhaps seen in how the Germans in the Second World War expanded so quickly but as they began to commit atrocities, began to fall back, and suffered sudden, few and decisive defeats that damned them to defeat in the war.

A will such as this, as capricious as this could perhaps be viewed as a person in the way that it still learns, it favors a certain people but as soon as they begin to slip, they suffer something in some way and then continue on the track they were favored upon the first time, but later on slip again and lose favor entirely.

But sometimes, the will, or person is not as forgiving.

This is the story of the single oldest mutant in history. One who has influenced our planet in every way he saw fit. This is the story of how someone with all the power in the world, can also be the person who feels the most powerless.

Sometimes, those with the vision of a noble world, are the ones who understand that this is something that is to come of its own accord, by the heart and will of the people, not something to be forced by the heart and will of the Gods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is chapter two, please enjoy :D**

**The Ghost in the Forest**

Samantha smiled wistfully, she was back in Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, her little home away from home. Everyone was there, old faces, new ones, her teachers, her friends. She was always so happy to be where she felt she belonged, even though she was away from her family for the most part, that was ok. Mom and Dad were mostly fighting and Grandma wasn't very nice to her, she liked Professor Xavier better, he was really nice and took care of all of them.

She smirked thinking about how the school was a family. The big ones looked after the little ones, Colossus was the one most of the little kids liked, he could lift up almost ten of them without his powers. He was like an older brother. And Wolverine, Logan, was more like the mean uncle who was kind of scary but actually meant well, in his own way.

Storm was the aunt in a sense, she kept everything in order and everyone working.

Samantha liked Storm, then again she liked everyone.

But most of all, she liked him. When she was twelve and had begun to attend the School, she had been scared of her surroundings and all the new people, some of them, like Logan were scary so she went into the deep woods behind the mansion, to be alone. And on the first day she had run into him by accident. Samantha's power was invisibility, and with this little boon, she penetrated deep into the forest and eventually followed the smell of food.

She followed the scent to a small house made of clay and sun dried brick in a small, secluded clearing amidst the valley with its back to the mountains. There was a small camp fire there, there was a black, heavy metal pot and there was something nice cooking. There were olive and fig trees, there was a small herd of goats that flocked about on their own accord. Everything in the area seemed out of place, not at all like something of the U.S but something like out Greece. She had always wanted to go to Greece and had seen plenty of pictures about the country. She recognized that the small stone furnace was for bread mostly, the assumption was confirmed in the way that there was a small wheat field on the side of the house. And planted there were also tomatoes, peppers and cucumbers.

There was also a well used anvil for blacksmithing which also had a rack of spears and shields next to it.

It looked like something out of the books she had read about ancient Greece, the home of one of the citizen soldiers of Sparta or Athens. All the kids had called her weird for knowing stuff like this.

She loved ancient history.

She had met him after she had a peek in his house. He snuck up behind her almost casually and stared at her eyes, which surprised Samantha, it was as if he could see her. And he followed her movements, never once breaking eye contact. And after a while he sat down on a small mat in front of the pot and served himself a bowl of vegetable stew, with bread and Greek tzaziki. He also served a bowl and set it next to another mat he laid out next to him and patted it as if inviting her to sit down with him.

That first day, she didn't drop the invisibility and stayed away from him. After he was finished eating, he took her bowl and poured it back into the pot and went back to work on a sword on his anvil.

Truth be told, she was scared of him at first. He wore armor from head to toe, it was black as coal with an ivory trim, whatever cloth peaked out at his joints was grey. His helmet was like that of a Hoplite commander, its sail was metallic and crested sideways along the head. His face however was shrouded in an unnatural shadow and where his eyes were, hung two intense white puffs of energy.

He, nor she said a word to each other that first day.

Samantha was lonely for the most part in those first few days at school, and after a week or so, she returned to his house, save this time, there was a temple made of marble. It was bare and humble and had a few statues, among them; Athena, Hades, Charon and Ares.

Where it had come from or how, she didn't know.

She came to him but maintained her distance, this time, without her invisibility. He seemed to be praying, he was on his knees wearing his armor gazing at Hades, God of the Underworld, and at Charon, the Ferryman of the River Styx.

He lazily acknowledged her presence and went back to looking at the statues. After a while she came up and stood relatively close to him and tried to speak.

"That's Charon"

He said nothing, but his glowing eyes shifted to her slightly.

"The Greeks believed that when you died Charon let you come to his boat so he could take you across the River Styx"

He nodded then pointed at the armored and chain bearing visage of Hades.

"He's Hades, he is Zeus' brother and King of the Underworld, he looks after the spirits. Thanatos is the god of death, he comes to get people when Hades says"

His eyes seemed to bore through her and look into her mind, then they shifted to her rag doll.

A little ghost by the name of Zorro.

It was a rundown and filthy little thing; one of its button eyes was falling out.

Samantha noticed he was studying the doll and she introduced herself with a handshake which he, after an instant of realization that he was speaking with someone, returned.

"This is Zorro, Mom made him when I was a baby. He's really dirty and his eyes are kind of falling out. I wish he could be new again" she blurted our excitedly, while scrutinizing the doll.

The stranger poked Zorro casually and all the grime faded off his cloth body and his button eyes took a new shine and reattached themselves.

The doll looked like new, to Samantha's astonishment. She gasped with a smile and gave the stranger a hug in gratitude which the stranger looked somewhat at a loss as to how to respond to.

That is how she met him, she decided to call him Weaver, as calling him Maker would sound a little weird, even given his title, the title she decided for him.

She called him "The Wishmaker" but not to anyone however, only to her diary. She was excited to meet such a new and strange mutant, or so she guessed as it seemed logical.

Wow….

A mutant could grant wishes to people, but this, she kept secret. She didn't want anyone coming to bug Weaver.

He was in a way, her clandestine friend. Every few days she would come out to the forest and spend time with him. He never spoke, but granted her wishes. And he was always doing something, if it was building something at the Temple or making armor, she always was content to sit around and see him work or just talk to him, even if he never spoke back.

Given to this strange detachment he had about interacting, she basically **had** came up with his name and title. And more so what to talk to him about, to a degree, he was like one of her imaginary friends, but one she could see. But just like the denizens of her mind, Weaver, never spoke back, by his own accord.

It was like he was there but wasn't there at the same time. She noticed he had a dazed way of being at times. For a twelve year old, she understood that she perceived a lot of things from him that others might have missed.

For one she could tell he was old, very, very old. There was simply something about his way of being that struck her. It was an aura of unassuming, but imperious authority, of restraint, of sadness, and most of all…

Anger

It was in those times in which he was not there entirely, that he acted out and behaved differently because he forgot her presence that she could detect these things. And over time, she began to see other things. Things that perhaps, he began to allow her to see, things she could not have imagined even in her wildest dreams.

The air whispered about him when he got like that, she never understood why that was. She never felt she was in any form of danger, so she quietly enjoyed the beings that lived amongst them, but something about Weaver, made her hesitant to speak in his presence when he was entranced or detached.

She felt, deep inside her that she was in the presence of power, unimaginable power.

She could see the faint and quick movement of shadows and things about the forest, things that disappeared the instant she looked. Movement at the corner of her eyes that did the same.

She heard things too…

It was only when Weaver had stopped that she noticed something that didn't disappear when he calmed down.

A little creature she named Pan, whom was……well……a faun, a teeny, tiny, little faun with yellow eyes.

The little goat creature was very friendly and over the course of only a few minutes became very attached to her, it broke her heart when she decided she had to leave, she had stayed until dark after all.

Sure, she would be having a long lecture and scolding from Storm, and she would have to figure out an alibi, but it would be worth it.

Much to her dismay, one day she had been followed and so it came that her secret was out.


End file.
